When Queshem mentions the slavers of Rampore Thasha nods, "I forgot about them. They have the desire and perhaps the will to do this...whatever this is."
Queshem takes point as everyone gathers magic senses and defense. The two half-orcs shake their heads at the strange sky and says, "No farther. Not without our chieftain. We got you to the surface, we did our part." It is obvious they are convincing themselves as much as Queshem.
When the inquisitor concentrates and casts Detect Magic, it is like looking directly at the noonday sun. A glaring, overpowering brightness that physically pains her. The entire countryside is alive with magic, a magic so strong it overwhelms her sense. Shocked, she tentively tries Detect Evil.
It is like staring into a bottomless pit, like one of the great whirlpools that haunt the deepest parts of the ocean. A black morass so final, so absolute that it defies description.
Oddly enough she detects no Chaos, at least at this range.
At her side Draflo gasps, discovering the same bewildering sensations. 'We will be blind." the half=-elf wizard says.
Right magic ain't going to help us.
Queshem looks at the half-orcs. And we're glad for yer help. Tell your chief we're going on ahead to try and suss out what happened. And tell 'im... tell 'im that it seems like Beachcomber's been destroyed by some... greater.. evil.
Queshem takes a deep breath and turns to her own crew. Right. Xiakon, make sure we're all patched up and lets' go. We need to know what, by the scales of gold, happened here
No one disagrees. Queshem's crew is, by this time, full of the same vigor as their captain about the eradication of evil. Dedicated to doing good in the Shackles, they would follow Queshem anywhere. For a moment she recalls her ship at rest in the small cove miles away. It would be several days now, since she left it in Parcell's capable hands. How were things with them? Did they see these strange signs and worry? Queshem had cheated death before, were they sure she'd do so again?
After a careful examination and some healing Xaikon judges the crew reayd to go. In Queshem's ear the tengu mutters, "I don't have much divine healing left. Draflo has a healing wand with charges but just thought I'd inform you."
Together they venture through the hills toward the seemingly empty town. The hard ash crunches underfoot, and they leave a clearly visible trail behind them, like hikers pushing through heavy snow. The air is thick with the acrid scent of the ash, and as it constantly floats down, covers every surface. Despite their best attempts it clogs their nose, get into their mouths and even burns in their eyes. The march is extremely unpleasant and slow-going due to the strange terrain.
They find the gates of the town thrown open, with no sign of guards or anyone else. The walls are undamaged and the gatehouse is in pristine condition if abandoned. The town inside looks totally empty, with shops and houses dark and covered in thick layers of ash.
Only one building is free of the stuff, a massive new looking wooden building in the center of town. Apparently several buildings were torn down to make space for the new structure. Wide wooden stairs lead up to closed doors and above the lintel is One-Eyed Mask of Norgeber, glittering darkly in the gloom.
No people, but a lot o' ash Queshem freezes for a second as she makes the obvious connection. Could all the people be burnt up? What could do this sort of thing Draflo? And wouldn't whoever done it need to be close? Destroyin' a town can't be this easy.
Queshem leads the advance as she warily climbs the steps, checking for traps as she goes.
There are no ships in the harbor, which is very strange for a Shackles city. Only the water logged wrecks bobbing in the ash covered sea, nothing sea worthy.
Polos says, Maybe."
But Thorrson shakes his head. He leans over the ash and sniffs, grimacing as he does so. "Pumice and glass. This is ash from a burning mountain. But where did it come from?"
Draflo then looks at the sky, squinting at the weird colors racing overhead. Then her face pales in horror. In a low voice she says, "I..I think this is from another plane, Queshem! A portal of some type...but the size required...." She trails off in horror.
Queshem spots no traps on the stairs or on the closed doors.
Queshem decides to risk detecting along the law and chaos alignment before continuing.
Queshem scans the closed doors for auras of law and chaos, but finds nothing. Whatever evil is building here, it is at least no Chaotic (that said Norgerber himself is Neutral Evil).
However, apart from her scans, she feels a strange tension in her head, as if she was diving in very deep water. A growing pressure the closer they get to the imposing, but new looking, building in front of them.
A quick glance at the rest of the crew confirms, she is not the only one who can feel this unsettling sensation.
In fer a copper, in fer a gold Queshem says repeating a quote favored by Abadarans. Pray to your Gods fore we go in 'cause we're headin' into the lair of another. I know I am. and indeed Queshem clutches her holy symbol for a moment to pray before hoisting up her crossbow, itself a favored weapon of her god, and puts a hand on the door to push...
The handle gives easily under Queshem's hand and the door swings open, creaking loudly. Polos laughs shaikly saying, 'Of course it creaks..."
The door swings open, revealing a entrance chamber, a foyer for the building beyond. The floor is scrubbed hardwood, made smooth and shining. Heavy beams arc high overhead, giving it the feeling of being in a great ship. But Queshem has no eyes for the architecture, instead her eyes are drawn to the metal pillars through the room. Sharp spires of steel, and each one is topped with an impaled body.
Thasha gasps and closes her eyes, while Draflo starts to shake. Polos curses while Xaikon merely stares, bright eyes wide in the dark.
All the bodies are stabbed through the chest, facing upward toward the ceiling, the shining steel sticking cruelly through them. A pool of dried blood forms at the base of each spike, dark red in the gloom. They seem arranged in strange patterns, geometric designs, rammed into the floor.
Faintly, Queshem can hear a crackling noise and muffled shouting, as if coming from a distant room.
Then, in her head she suddenly hears the sibilant words of the vulnadeamon but instead of the hissing insults or taunts it says This is part of what binds me, Queshem of the Sea. If you disturb it, you could free me. I make a deal with you, captain. Free me and I will help you destroy this cult that controls me. I would like nothing more then to rip the flesh from the bones of this...Gnarea. You would be wise to enlist my aid.
In the distance the crackling and muffled shouts grow louder, then the daemon goes on, He has powers you cannot guess and aims that would make your skin crawl.
At her side Draflo looks at her strangely, "That face..did you hear something?"
Queshem nods with eyes narrowed and lips grim, she thinks in her head Did you destroy the town?
First, we see what that noise is, then we... deal.. with this.
The voice in her head laughs coldly but says No, something far worse has done this. Something from the place where my spirit dwells.[/b]A horrid pause then, [i]Something from my home. It is not here yet but your time grows short. Release me so I can gain my vengeance before that chance is lost, along with your own!
There be some living folks who might be needin' our help first. she says out loud to answer both the daemon and her crew. Move around, stay clear of the circle. Open the far doors. Thasha check fer traps. Stay strong now. It'll take all of us strong to get through this terror.
You waste time! The daemon shouts in her mind but it then subsides in anger.
Queshem looks at the bodies and sees a wide range of people. Some are halflings, but most are humans and there are a few-half orcs mixed in. A few are clearly rebels hauled out of the jungle, dirty and dressed in rags. A few however, have better clothes and look well-fed. Looking closer she even sees one with a Norgerber necklace around his neck. Judging as best she can, it seems everyone on the island from cultists to rebels to sailors are represented here.
Rabbis and Thasha reach the far doors first, and try to open them. Between the two of them they quickly realize the doors are locked, bolted and chained shut from the other side. The bard shakes her head, "No way unless you want to smash through and these doors are solid."
Draflo raises a thin hand "I have magic that can blast them down, but that may spoil any element of surprise we may have."
We're onto speed now Draflo. Not Stealth. If we be in over our heads then we'll be retreatin' Blow it down! Queshem orders
Draflo nods and says, 'Stand back."
Everyone moves back, forming a battle echelon and only Thorrson hangs back, obviously unwilling to be part of the attacking force. Everyone else is grimly prepared, even Xaikon. Queshem's head throbs, the pressure in it building, as if she surfaced too quickly from a great depth.
Holding up both hands, Draflo stretches her finger wide. Then she shouts some arcane word and throws them forward as if grabbing for an invisible rope. Out of the silence a sudden shriek fill the air, that reminds Queshem of Key, the scream of an angry and defied eagle. The blast shatters the door, throwing splinters and scraps of iron in all directions, flattening them completely. Draflo sways slightly but quickly regains her composure.
Inside is a very strange place.
The first thing she notices is the heat. It is unlike the damp closeness of the caves or the rank misamsa of the jungle. This is a dry, sterile heat that reminds her of an oven or kiln, all encompassing and absolute. The air is thick with the taste of ash and toxic fumes, of burned oil and melted metal.
Inside the room is large and shadowy, full of shifting shapes and features. The floor is hardwood, closely laid planks from wall to wall. Massive wooden pillars dot the space, holding up a dark timber roof. There are no windows, no chimneys, nothing to even suggest the outside world.
The room is dotted with yet more metal spikes, each complete with an impaled body. Women, men, and even to Queshem's horror, some children. There are dozens, hundreds here, laid out in intricate patterns on the floor. In the center of the room is a raised platform, made of wood. Rising above it is a strange ball of glowing light, a protoplsam of shifting colors and intensity. Just looking at makes Queshem's head spin.
The entire room is off putting. There are strange shadowy shapes overlying everything. The wooden pillars dance and flickers, sometimes appearing as petrified trees, or the floor looks covered in cold basalt lava flows before snapping back. It is as if some force is trying to impose another reality onto this room, transform it into another place entirely.
From everywhere and nowhere a familiar, heated voice booms.
"So, you made it past the vulnadaemons. I am both impressed and annoyed, congratulations. I would spend more time on pleasantries, but as you can see, I am busy at the moment." The voice of Gnarea says, echoing through the strange room.
In her mind she hears the evil voice of the daemon mutters, You see what you face? [i]Release me and I can aid you in destroying him and his project.[/i]
Queshem waves at Thorsson to get the heck out of the temple as fast as his legs can carry him.
Draflo, Xiakon, Thasha she hisses at her crew I be needin' yer knowin' to know what the hell this be and how to stop it. And fer Abadar's sake Someone give me unseen sight. Xiakon protect us from this evil with the Gold Fisted's glory! This be the time to use those damn wands! Spread out but stay in Xiakon's circle!
Louder she says You murdered yer own home. To what end ye villian? And Where is Raffles? Where is Magner and the rest of me crew?
Her casters look scared and overwhelmed at the site of the ritual, the otherworldly ball of light, the harsh stench in the air, the dry heat. Xakinon stammers, "Abbandon. Home of daemons..."
But they follow her orders, spreading out into a rough circle, wands in hand. The tengu mutters few prayers and his words sound thin and weak in this dark place but a faint glow of white line encircles them. Protection of a sort, but how much would it do good here, where the very world was being replaced by...something else.
At her words, Gnarea's voice is distracted, as if he is focusing greatly on something else, "You understand nothing of what is happening, Captain. Your small mind can't begin to grapple with it. Just be content of your small part in the great pageantry of events." A pause then, 'But I suppose you will try and stop me, won't you? Not that I can be surprised, it is personal at this point."
In Queshem's ehad she hears the vulnadaemon, voice quick and hard, Now! He is summoning me and others like me to fight you, to devour you. This is your last chance. Free me or fail, servant of the cursed god of vaults!"
I don't trust ye, fer reasons we both are aware.
Queshem thinks at the daemon. But we both want Gnarea stopped. Plus ye want Gnarea to yerself? Well then help me stop 'im and take 'im alive and I'll toss him into the circle for ye to do what ye will. Win-Win yeah? If ye agree then tell me how me and me crew can bloody stop this ritual and what the hell be the deal with that tall fella in the corner!
Rabbis, with Thasha! Polos with me! We're circlin round the orbs' and watchin' fer traps!Xiakon! Hold yer spells to protect yerself and Draflo! Draflo! Keep givin us more and more invisiblity sight. Start with Thasha! Oh and Thasha. Glitterdust that corner will ya? she motions at the corner she sees the tall figure at.
Then she casts Bless adding her own connection to Abadar to strengthen the group and circles left. Trying to find Gnarea and see what he's doing.
No, you must release me first, or he will bind me to fight you. That is what is on his lips as he speak, he is summoning me and others to kill you. He is risking great things, very unwise. The vulnadaemon hisses in her head, then it pauses, as if listening to something. After a long pause it says, slowly, She is coming For the first time Queshem detects a note of actual fear and awe in the voice. What could scare this thing? What was coming?
Alter the third steel spike int he circle outside this room to free me. Do it now or your island is lost, and all of you with it.
Together they make ready to circle the glowing portal, which starts to pulsate with changing tones of red and white. Every time it shifts the floor rumbles like an earthquake, dust wafting down from the ceiling above. The strange shifting shadows of ashen fields are growing stronger, covering the real world around them.
Sorry, the Shackles do have a way of beatin' the trust out of a mortal. Tell ye what. Ye may be summoned to do Gnarea's bidding, but that don't mean ye can't still tell me what I need to know yeah?
In her mind the voice hisses, Then enjoy the brief time you have left. The one who comes will take more then your trust, human. Your very soul will be torn from your body, you" But his voice cuts off suddenly, like a string that is snapped.
At her side, Thasha points her finger and a jet of sparkling light erupts, shooting toward the shadowy corner. Queshem watches as it hits the figure then, simply ...falls. It is as if the glitterdust had been thrown down a deep pit, as the light grows fainter and fainter, until it vanishes into the blackness.
The robed figure does not react to the spell or the strange effect, head turned toward the large portal (and presumably Gnarea). before Queshem has a chance to do or say anything else, the figure strides forward, out of the shadows.
With quick steps it is quickly in the center of the room, untroubled by the shifting floor, the pulsing orbs of power, or the phasing out of reality itself. The dark robe ripples, almost hypnotically, as the figure comes to a stop, and throws the hood back. A female face, pale and spare is revealed, dark hair against white skin. At this distance, Queshem isn't sure if it is human, elf or something else.
"It will not serve, servant of Norgerber." The woman says, and her voice is clear and strong in the sudden silence of the chamber. Even the roar of arcane magic is silenced as she speaks, as if her mere whim is more powerful then spells.
"You were rejected, this will not engender a reconsideration."
A pause, and Queshem hears nothing, but the woman cocks her head, as if listening to something. A reply?
Then she nods, as if suddenly understanding, "Ah, you seek not to impress us, but supplant us?" Then the woman laughs, and it is high and cold, sending a chill up Queshem's spine. Then the mysterious figure turns to Queshem and her crew, and Queshem can see a beautiful face, with bright eyes, red lips and smooth skin.
"And yet already at hand is a tool to use against you. How quickly the god provides." She smiles, revealing a mouth full of pearl white teeth. "Sailor, you serve a higher purpose today. As do I."
Then, without warning she slaps her palms together but instead of the soft sound of flesh on flesh, it is the shriek of rending stone, a tearing sound of pain and suffering. Her entire crew put hands to their ears and shout in pain as the deafening sound echoes through the chamber. The woman, still smiling, then vanishes in a flash of blue light so bright it makes Queshem's eyes water.
There is a moment of further silence, then chaos breaks out. The vast portal starts to pulsate spasmodically, as if it was unstable or out of control. The entire room starts to shake as if with an earthquake, the roof overhead cracking and splintering, the mosaic floor below shifting. Everywhere the carefully aligned steel posts shiver, making the dead bodies impaled on them dance with a horrible facade of life.
Above it all Gnarea starts shouting, 'No, no! You have let them all lose. What have you done?" He sounds panicked, terror in his voice.
"I have a feeling this is bad." Polos says at her side, eyeing both the fluxing portal and the crackling roof.
Xiakon! Thasha! Draflo! What the bloody hell do we do to stop this! Queshem shouts desperately wanting to be anywhere but in the spasming building. Gnarea you *&^**#^! What have you DONE? What is loose? How many? she screams at the hateful little tit.
She looks around wildly. Was there a mass of vulnademons coming from somewhere? The portal?
Everyone answers in a babble of confused and terrified voices, and at first Queshem can make nothing of them over the crumbling roof and crackling orbs of power.
It is actually Gnarea she hears first, voice a mixture of awe and fear "But no, she is still coming. This could still work...." He sounds very concentrated on some task that requires all of his willpower.
The largest orb pulsates, sending out waves of power so intense Queshem's eyes are forced to squint to avoid being blinded. She hear the sound of screaming roars and many heavy feet.
The portals are open.
Queshem's enhanced eyes train on the invisible lesser portals. The glowing rifts are pulsating with the same quickening rhythm as the large center orb. Out them step imposing figures, and judging from the gasps and groans from her colleagues they are not invisible.
The first she sees are imposing. Jagged bits of metal, armor, and sharp pieces of wire embed the flesh of this towering fiend. Like chaos made flesh.
"Genthodaemons.." Draflo breathes at her side, 'Avatars of war and destruction.
Then, out of the other portals, other, smaller shapes yet more sinister .
Silken robes drape the fiend’s form, providing only a bare outline of the body beneath. Claw-tipped tentacles emerge from the cuffs, clutching wands and soul gems, while below its robe’s margins, its multiple-jointed legs—almost like a reptilian insect’s—end in clawed, three-toed chitinous feet. Its face remains perpetually covered by a dark veil, and a trio of long, forked tongues periodically emerges from its rounded mouth and tastes the air around its thin lips.
Draflo is silent but Thasha says, [b]"Venadaemon! Souls killed by dark magics...."
The horror in the bard's voice is clear.
Last but not least, Queshem sees a familialiar figure lurch out of a portal. Despite the shaking building, the ash in the air, the screeches and growls of the incoming daemons, there is no mistaking it. The vulnadaemon that had hunted them for so long.
And still Queshem has not seen Gnarea.
Based on the hushed horror in Draflo and Thasha's voices Queshem realizes that, if this turned into a standup fight their little band would most probably be massacred. They needed to strike the head of the snake. But where was it?
How do I break what forces you here! she thinks desperately at the vulnadaemon even as she rushes desperately north east to try and finally get a bead on the halfling responsible for the madness!
Queshem darts ahead, crossbow heavy in her hands. After all this time, here was her chance. Slogging through wet jungle, dodging through horrid caves, chased by daemons, framed for murder and then marooned on a desert isle, here was her chance to save Bag Island from Gnarea and his evil cult. Although, judging from the Norgerber bodies impaled on spikes, Gnarea had bigger plans then a small island based cult.
Queshem rounds the pulsating, glowing orb, for now, ignoring the horde of enemies entering the impromptu battlefield. Then, for the first time since that fateful mutiny, she spots Gnarea.
The halfing is standing on top of a high platform, magically created out of solid rock, rising three feet from the floor of the temple. There is an wooden altar in front of him, carved in strange and horrid designs. There are small items scattered across it, relics of a religious ceremony. Blood dripped from it, thick and dark, pooling at Gnarea's feet.
But Queshem only has eyes for the halfing himself. He is dressed in dark robes that seem to drink in light, almost creating a black aura around him. He is bowed over the altar, hands holding some object Queshem's can't see from her angle. A strange haze surrounds him, almost like a heat mirage, flickering around the entire raised area.
How do I break what forces you here! We've got a common enemy burn it all! Queshem thinks at the vulnadaemon desperately before organizing.
We use the portal as cover ourselves from the western foes. Queshem yells out. Draflo get up here and tell me how to block the portals or get rid of Gnarea's protections! Rabbis Grapple the hell out of that spellcasting monster south east! Thasha that big one to the North East seems like it'll slip easy so bring him down somehow with yer trickery! Xiakon come up center and bring up yer strongest blessing on all of us. Polos between me and the big one and DEFEND. Stay two paces way from each other!
Round 1
Queshem shouts out her orders and everyone springs into action. Dralfo runs up, the wizard not nearly as fast as some of the others.
Her eyes are wide at the crazed scene on front of them and she says, "There are lines of power...the center is the altar. But I think I could dispel the small portals, at least for a while. Only one at a time though! Do you want me to do that?"
Rabbis is far swifter, but has more ground to cover. The monk dashes over to the robed daemon, moving nimbly over fallen stone, impaled bodies and other debris. He almost knocks Xaikon over in his pell mell rush. Queshem can see the light of battle in the former slave's eyes. With a rush he dives forward, hoping to tackle the daemon before it can unleash any foul magics.
In an instant Rabbis is wrestling with the strange creature, somehow touching the evil beast, hopefully preventing it from using an evil spell, at least for the moment.
Next up is Thasha, with the bard visably frightened but following orders. She passes Queshem, going near the, so far, empty portal near the captian. She eyes up the formidable hulking beast in front of them, a snarl of wire and death. Pointing a finger she shouts an arcane word of power. Suddenly under the feet of the daemon, a pool of slippery grease appears.
However, it manages to keep its balanced, massive bulk hard to tip over. Still, it looks more precarious.
Next is Xaikon and Queshem can see the cleric is trembling, feathers shaking. She assumes fear but then catches his bright, crow-like eye. Now, ti is now fear, it is outrage, an utter hatred of all evil, black things that crawl upon this earth. A fury, a focused purpose directed at these abominations of chaos and destruction.
"I also have Dispel Magic, if you need it, Captain." The tengu says, voice calm and hard, no trace of his usual nervous anxiousness. "In the meantime." he touches Queshem's quiver of bolts, which suddenly glows.
Polos is hot on his heels, sword in hand. He gives Queshem a look and mutters, "I preferred when it was just pirates." But takes his stance in front of her, a welcome sight.
Queshem sends one bolt toward Gnarea. The glowing bolt flies right through the odd haze, but seems to shift places in mid-air. To Queshem's mariner's eye it looks like water refraction, where light is bent and confuses one's aim. The bolt misses, flying wide. Gnarea doesn't even look up, and Queshem thinks he is muttering something.
Round 1, Bad Guys Turn
Gnarea is unmoving, clenching some hidden item. His muttered words are far too quiet, but he seems transfixed with his struggle. Muscles stand out on his arms and sweat dripping off his face.
The creature Rabbis is wrestles screeches, with a voice that makes Queshem's hair stand on end. It's robes whip as it tries to break free. On the edge of hearing she can detect the whispering of languages, many of them. Can this..venedaemon speak telepathically too? If it tries to taunt Rabbis, the ploy doesn't work and the monk hangs on tightly.
Struggling, it hisses something in a foul tongue that reminds Queshem of lashing flames.
With a flicker the daemon starts to vanish. As the daemon starts to escape, Rabbis changes to offense.
He doesn't do much damage however and the daemon vanishes, leaving Rabbis to grapple thin air.
It reappears ahead of Queshem , looking relived at escaping the grapple, although it is hard to read emotions in the forbidding and dark figure.
The other venedaemon, behind Gnarea, starts to move as well. It rises off the floor slightly and glides over the rough ground, moving around Gnarea and his strange aura of power. It also casts a spell, and a field of force surrounds it.
Next, the imposing daemon in front of Queshem starts to move. Over nine feet tall it towers over the battlefield, taller by far then anyone else. A mass of razor sharp wire, cracked pits of armor and a gaping maw of jagged teeth. It ponderously moves through the puddled grease.
Thasha grins however, as the huge armored foot starts to slip, the heavy beast far too unwieldy to cross the slippery surface.
Then, like a leaning tower, it starts to topple. Slowly it starts to lean drunkenly over to one side, unable to keep balance on the floor. A little more, a little more...then with a crash that makes the entire building ring it falls to the ground, sounding like a smithy dropped from the sky. On the ground, it starts waving its arms about, trying to find purchase to lever itself upright.
The other genthodaemon starts to round the massive orb, with Draflo dead in his sights.
In her head Queshem can hear the vulnadaemon, but his voice is constrained, as if struggling to make every word, straining against some horrid pressure. A little late now, Captain. I offered you a fair deal.... But unusually, despite the obvious promise to destroy he seems worried, concerned about something else. Clearly the vulnadeamon is a bit more aware of things then the other daemons.
There were too many targets. Too many to even keep in sight! Queshem allows herself to feel overwhelmed for a moment and grasp her holy symbol and mutter a strained prayer before returning her focus to the matter at hand.
We'll kill each other later. I promise. she thinks at the vulndaemon. But ye and I both hate Gnarea way more than each other. TELL ME WHAT I NEED TO KNOW TO DEFEAT HIM!
Gnarea was the main focus. He had to be. But her bolt had gone unnoticed by the cursed halfing. How could she concentrate on destroying his defenses while his summoned daemons closed in. Unless... she didn't need to?
Thasha do the same to the other that you did to the first big lunk. Xiakon move up and give Polos's weapon the holy power too. Rabbis, Polos, attack the caster that escaped Rabbis I want it FLANKED AND KILLED and don't block me from it! Draflo move up to the portal and.... make a pit underneath Gnarea would ye?
Let's see how his damned ritual survives THAT Queshem thought before a headache swept it away.
It had been a very very long day and Queshem was very very tired. But she still had some connection to Abadar left to her, even in this hellish room. She focused it and turned it on the caster in front of her once Polos and Rabbis were in position.
Queshem's holy symbol feels hot in her hand, as if Abadar himself was enraged at the spectacle here, and his holy anger was being channeled through her.
Round 2
Her call to the vulnadaemon is answered, somewhat to her surprise, The items from the ritual....must be thrown into...the grand portal... Then a hiss of pain and stunned silence, as if the daemon was recoiling from a blow. That information cost the daemon dearly.
Draflo nods"Gladly." With a quick flick of her wrist, and muttering strange words, suddenly the stone on the raised platform starts to twist and melt, like churning mud. Gnarea finally looks up, eyes wild, panicked. "No, you fools, you mustn't..." Then he is gone, falling into the newly created pit, the altar falling after him.
As he tumbles out of view, the room reels. The pulsating orb grows brighter, a shine bright enough to dispel all shadows of the vast temple. In some corner of her mind, Queshem wonders if this temple to Norgerber had ever been this well-light since it's founding. The orb flares, and the room quakes, with the roof starting to fall in earnest. Inside the blinding, dazzling light, Queshem can see a vague, dim figure, a vast humanoid shape slowly moving towards the portal.
Thasha shakes her head, "I only had one Grease spell prepared. I'll..I'll come up with something!" She turns and takes a few steps back to get the hulking metaled daemon in her sights. Eyeing it directly, the tiefling screws herself up and says, "Pay obedience to your lord, he comes through the portal!"
The genthodaemon hesitates, pauses as if confused, then turns towards the glowing portal, light spilling across its twisted form. It stands at attention, watching carefully. "That is one..." Thasha says, obviously straining herself to keep a mental hold on the creature.
Xaikon takes a step and touches Polos's blade and it starts to glow. In a low voice he says to Queshem, "I am running out of spells. I can heal but not much more."
Polos moves forward, blade held low, in a practiced stance. The fighter moves over the crumbling ground and sweeps an attack at the daemon.
The blow lands, slicing into the dark billowing robes. A harsh sound like steel scraping on bone fills the chamber and green ichor bursts forth from the hidden wound. The insect like wizard daemon writhes in pain, obviously unused to such damage.
Rabbis sprints past them, a blur of motion, legs pumping. He meets up with Polos, not quite flanking yet. In a moment he lashes out with fists.
But Rabbis misses, the horrid thing ducking his first, hasty blow.
Then Queshem let's loose. Fueled by her god, her journey and the sheer evil in front of her, she fires three bolts in quick succession. Two hit the creature. One for each eye.
The insect like head snaps back, the neck cracking horribly. It twists as it falls, magic items scattering glittering across the floor. 'Don't touch them!" Draflo says, startled into speech, "They are cursed!"
Round 2- Bad Guys
Out of sight Gnarea is screaming obscenities, hurling abuse on Queshem and anyone ever associated with her. His vindictiveness also holds an edge of fear and anxiety beyond just revenge.
The fallen daemon covered iin grease tries to stand up.
It fails, and slips back to the ground. Before Queshem can fell triumphant however, the hulking creatures rolls slightly, looking directly at her. Two sullen red eyes glow, like iron heated by the forge lock on her, and she feels a thrill of fear. Then, several of the rusty shards of metal on it's back is thrown clear, like man throwing a spear, directly at her!
However, Queshem sees them coming. With an ease that startles even her, the inquisitor manages to dodge the hail of jagged metal, and hears them rattle and skip off the stones around her. Her crew lets out a ragged cheer at seeing her unharmed.
The other genthodaemon struggles against Thasha's control.
It fails to break free and keeps staring at the glowing portal.
The remaining venedamon waves a tentacled hand toward Polos, muttering evil sounding words in a sibilant tone, barely audiable over the crumbling building and the growing roar of the portal.
Polos shrugs off the spell however.
The vulnadeamon flickers out of sight, invisible again. Apparently returning to his home plane has revived him. Queshem sees no sign of him.
End of Round
Queshem glances toward the vast glowing portal and the shape of the figure is slowly becoming more clear, a face resolving out of the shimmering aura. A woman?
Then, a strange sound. Like a vast chorus of voices but at a great distance, chanting "Szuriel, Szuriel. Welcome her attendants."
The 'invisible' portal near QUeshem starts to shake, and dark shadows move within it. More daemons are about to pour out. From above the rocky ceiling starts to crack and send sheets of rock down.
A small avalanche falls on Polos, hitting his shoulders.
He raises his small shield against the onslaught, managing to avoid the worst of the damage.
Draflo! Queshem snaps as she racks her brain to remember what could be coming through the portal. That Barrier 'round the stage, can we walk through that thing?
Queshem knows Szuriel is one of the most powerful beings in Abaddon. One of the Four Endbringers, the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Szuriel is the avatar of war. While doubtful this portal will allow her to fully arrive, even the merest shadow of her power would be enough to probably kill everyone on Bag Island. She is basically a demi-god. Her attendants are daemons of uncommon horror and power.
Dralfo tears her eyes away from the pulsating orb and looks at Queshem. "I think so. It seems to just be a Norgerber illusion to deceive arrows and other spells. A figment of shadow."
A HORESMAN!? Queshem's mind yells at her when the name finally clicks Gnarea's trying to summon and control a HORSEMAN OF THE BLOODY APOCALYPSE?
Rabbis! Grapple that second caster and keep it locked up NOW. Polos Move to the stage where the pit ain't and help the rest of us get a boost up. We're DOUBLE TIMING INTO THE BLASTED BUBBLE RIGHT NOW! WE MUST STOP THE RITUAL! Queshem screams.
Round 3
Queshem barks her orders, voice barely audible over the roar of chaos around them. Rabbis doesn't need orders however, and darts off toward the remaining casting daemon. Hands held wide, he tries to grapple this one as well, negating its magical powers.
The daemon struggle but Rabbis just manages to get an arm lock on the strange being, keeping it for being able to focus or move it's arms freely.
Following Queshem, Draflo, Xaikon and Thasha follow, heads bowed to avoid the falling stones from above. As they run, Queshem feels the air start to swirl and blow, as if the start of a storm. Her dark hair flies free, rippling in the arcane breeze. The strange chorus in her mind grows in power, as if the voices are coming closer, ever closer.
She finds Polos at the edge of the ledge, hands held together. He probably couldn't hear her over the cacophony, but he knew what she would want. With his help all of them, event he rather ungainly Draflo manage to get up onto the exposed ledge. Here, the wind is more intense, a searing heat like an oven. The bright light of the massive center orb grows, making all of them casting strange dancing shadows on the ground, everyone creating a sharp silhouette.
Peering down, Queshem can see Gnarea in the bottom of the pit, trying to recreate his ritual. He has stood the altar haphazardly up and is now trying to res-set the other three items. The halfling is about ten feet down and, so far, ignores them above.
Bad Guys Turn
The genthodaemon in the grease slides out of the puddle, freeing itself of the slippery area, although still prone. Again the jagged bits of metal on its back start to pulsate and then, thrown with great force toward Polos.
One slides under his guard and slashes his leg. Polos has seen far worse, but the deamon will soon be up and upon him.
The other one, in front of the portal tries to throw off the charming spell Thasha has laid on it.
This time it shakes itself free of the magic, and roars in rage loud enough tobe heard over the turmoil. At Queshem's side Thasha loosk terrifed and mutters, softly, "Sorry."
The daemon doubles back, heading up the far side of the vast orb. He stops near his struggling ally, the grappled venedaemon. With obvious delight it moves to strike at Rabbis. Hands edged with razor sharp steel lash out toward the struggling ex-slave.
The creatures arms and teeth ravage Rabbi's back, tearing his flesh cruelly. Blood flies from the savage attack, but he holds grimly on, knowing even in death he is buying Queshem time.
The venedaemon tries to cast a spell.
Instead of vanishing however, a strange dark cloud surrounds Rabbis for a moment then settling on his skin. The monk's face grows somewhat slack and his movements more sluggish, although he maintains his hold.
The vulnadaemon, invisible to all but Queshem races up toward Polos but not quite reaching the fighter.
Queshem does her best to try and shut out what Rabbis is going through but it's very very hard. Can you lift those three things with magic! She asks Thasha and Draflo desperately.
Draflo nods, "Yes, but only one at a time for each of us. Also, Gnarea could try and grab it out of the air. Even in the best case, he'd probably grab the last item to prevent us pulling the same trick for everything. But we can start, if you want!"
Not now. On my mark pick up the one close to ye and throw it into that big portal! Queshem snaps to Draflo and Thasha.
Xiakon! Come to me and heal Rabbisyer strongest spells! Keep him alive burn you!
POLOS. Climb up here! And get ready to play sackball!
Sackball. In the long trip as a refugee from Sargava to Absalom Queshem had tried to keep the younger kids spirits up as best as she could. A small collection of rags tied together into a rough shape of a ball had been the best toy she could come up with. The games were never elaborate; they couldn't be on the tiny craft that they had fled on and had been their home for many many months. Just tossing and kicking the sad little bundle of cloth back and forth for as long as it would keep its shape.
Having made her orders Queshem drops onto Gnarea's head as Polos comes up while yelling MARK!
Then, assuming she's in a state to do so she grabs the third relic and tosses it to up to Polos.
Throw 'em into the Huge glowing PORTAL! NOW!
She had always been real good at sackball.
Queshem jumps into the pit, aiming directly for the distracted halfling. Only at the last moment does he sense trouble and glance up, eyes wide as he sees the plummeting inquisitor just inches from the top of his head. With a loud smack she lands directly onto the cleric of Norgerber. he barely has time to curse before the wind is knocked out of him.
As the pair of them crumple together, above both Draflo and Queshem magically grab an item and sending them rocketing upward out of the pit. They leave Queshem's sight flying away, towed by her friends. She is left wrestling with Gnarea who, seeing her plan, desperately grabs for the last item, a heavy bronze cup.
Queshem however grabs it first and heaves it upward with all of her might. A life spent rowing, practicing swordplay and heaving ropes has made Queshem a very strong woman indeed. The cup arcs high overhead and just as it reaches it's peak Polos reaches out and snatches it. Then he whips the item out of Queshem's sight. There is a bright flash and a loud roar but the struggling inqsuitor can't see anything.
In the pit with her Gnarea doesn't even speak but merely grabs her neck with his small hands.
His hands feel like fire on her bare skin, a racing feeling of pain streaking up and down her nerves. It is like a spike of pure pain is being driven into every inch of her body.
But she lives and endures.